


Death is no Parenthesis

by sinkingsidewalks



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-02-23 07:18:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2539127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinkingsidewalks/pseuds/sinkingsidewalks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The evening news calls them monsters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the E.E. Cummings poem 'Since feeling is first'

The evening news calls them monsters. The anchor stands outside the home of their last victim, the front door still crossed off by bright yellow crime scene tape, citing that ‘the FBI has no leads at this time’ but ‘they assure us that they are working diligently to apprehend these individuals.’ She rhymes off the figures, twenty-three deaths in eight different states throughout the last five weeks, bodies heavily mutilated in such a way that is ‘too graphic for public broadcasting.’ 

This report has become daily, always the same with the exception of the climbing death toll. 

Jemma watches the screen lazily, limbs sprawled out over the motel bed, her head nestled in Leo’s lap where he sits against the headboard, crunching down a bag of pretzels. 

“What do you say to taking off tomorrow morning?” Simmons asks, turning to look up at him, her long hair falling over the tops of his thighs, “Heading for a city?”

“I thought you wanted to get started on the new formula you’ve come up with,” One of his hands goes into the bag for another pretzel while the other cards gently though Jemma’s hair. 

“Yes but we can do that just as easily from somewhere more populated, we’d draw less attention Fitz. And since I’ve already gathered what I need there’s really no reason for us to stay in this area.” 

“Alright,” He says, “Where were you thinking?”

“Seattle maybe, that shouldn’t take more than five or six hours.”

“Sounds good to me.” He leans down catching her lips. His hands skim underneath her sweater and over her skin, the fingertips slightly rough from long ago burning away the prints.

She leans up into the kiss, using one hand to shove the bag of pretzels aside while the other weaves it’s way into the curls at the base of his neck.

\---

By the time Fitz wakes up the next morning Jemma has already gone for her regular run, showered, dressed, packed their things, and is standing in front of the desk where she’s set up a small portable hot plate which has a large glass beaker sitting on it. The beaker is filled with a thick white liquid that’s bubbling softly as Simmons stirs it, wearing thick purple rubber gloves that cover her hands up to her elbow.   
Fitz rolls over in the bed and grunts. 

“Good morning Fitz.” She replies happily, leaning over to kiss his cheek as he sits up.

He blinks slowly, gathering his surroundings. “Is that the hemlock? Jesus Jemma, you could have killed us both,” He admonishes.

“Oh don’t be ridiculous Fitz I know exactly what I’m doing, you weren’t in any danger at all.” She turns the element off with a snap, “It’s perfectly safe, as long as you don’t touch or eat it.”

He continues grumbling incoherently as he slips out of bed and wanders into the bathroom. 

She hears the shower come on as she grabs the bleach and begins wiping down the surface where she was working with the toxin. She douses her gloves next, pulling them off after she’s secured a lid on the beaker and wiped down the outside, just to be sure. Fitz comes out of the bathroom as she’s running the cloth over all the surfaces of the room, anywhere they could have touched, where DNA could have settled.

He strips the bed, pulling the sheets into the bathroom along with the bottle of bleach and the water starts on again. 

“Ready?” She asks when he comes out again, picking up a bag. Their clothes are packed into one large duffle while another is filled with miscellaneous tech and equipment, things too valuable or suspicious to trust in only the locked trunk of the car.

“Yeah,” He grabs the other, opening the small window to let out some of the smell.   
They check out of the hotel quickly, paying cash, then putting the bags into the trunk of the car, an old blue Honda civic that’s had it’s plates changed a half dozen times and more than a few improvements made under the hood by Fitz’s idle fingers. 

Fitz drives while Simmons unfolds multiple large maps across her lap, directing him. They stop for gas and bad coffee and food at the first station they cross about an hour into their journey and Simmons scolds Fitz for the amount of junk food he buys. 

Another few hours pass as they travel through uneventful highways before Fitz asks suddenly, “Is that a hitchhiker?”

“Yes Fitz I think it is.” Jemma answers.

It’s only a spec in the distance, but he’s is already slowing down. “Don’t you think you should really try out that water hemlock stuff? Make sure it’s adequate ya’ know?”

They’re alone on the highway. 

“Yes, that’s an excellent idea.” She reaches into the bag at her feet and quickly dips a miniscule track dart from the glove compartment into the white solution with a pair of thick tweezers before clicking it into it’s station, sliding everything back into place as Fitz stops the car on the shoulder near the man. He’s not very tall, seems to be about their own age and a bit scrawny. She rolls down her window and calls out, “Where are you headed?”

“Seattle,” he calls back, jogging over to the car. 

“Same as us, do you need a ride?” Simmons asks, her voice sweet, a delicate smile on her lips. 

“Yeah,” He replies, “Thanks.” He gets into the backseat, “I’m Tyler.”

“Lovely,” Simmons answers, “I’m Jemma and this is Leo.”

“Hi there,” Fitz says over his shoulder as he brings the car back onto the road. It’s his best friendly voice but there’s still a bit too much edge in his smile.

“I apologize for the plastic,” Simmons says, “We used to have a dog, she got so nervous when we’d drive with her, wouldn’t she Leo?”

Fitz nods, “Poor thing, would shake all the way there and all the way back.”

“Oh that’s okay,” Tyler says, “Where is she now, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Died, two months ago I think it was. Liver failure, she lived a good fourteen years though.” Fitz answers. 

“I’m sorry.”

They both wave a hand in dismissal.

“So what are you headed to Seattle for Tyler?” Jemma asks as she fiddles with the tablet on her lap, instructing it to recognize Tyler’s heat signature, but not pressing launch yet.

“My father lives there, and I’m hoping to find a job.” He leans forward over the seat.

“That’s nice,” Simmons replies, catching Fitz’s eye and indicating towards a sign that announces a service road up ahead. He nods ever so slightly in reply, pulling the car off the main highway. 

“I hope you don’t mind if we just take a quick stop to stretch our legs Tyler,” Simmons says, “It’s been quite a long drive.” 

“Oh yeah, no problem.”

“Shouldn’t be long,” Fitz says, nodding again to Simmons as they travel along the gravel road, the trees quickly blocking their view of the highway.

Simmons taps the launch button on her tablet, the sound of tires on gravel easily block out the small whirl of the dart waking up. It flies off into the back seat, where it burrows into the flesh of Tyler’s neck.

“Ow!” He says and Simmons hears his hand slap against skin, “I think something just bit me.” 

“That’s strange,” She replies, noncommittally. 

The poison starts taking effect almost immediately. She can hear his breathing deepen and a low groan. 

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” He groans undoing his seatbelt and trying for the door handle but it only pulls uselessly. 

Fitz stops the car, pulling the keys from the ignition as Simmons hops out and opens the door to the backseat. Tyler is now writhing against the seat, his face scrunched up in agony. 

She grins, “That’s lovely really,” she says to Fitz as she rips the plastic up from where it’s Velcroed down to the floor, “Faster than I expected but altogether good results.” 

Leo works from the other side to detach the plastic and he pulls it along with Tyler onto the side of the road just into the tree line while Jemma opens the trunk, quickly rifling around to pull out her purple gloves and multiple syringes and plastic bags. 

Tyler is still alive, only just twitching and breathing raggedly, sprawled out on the plastic. Simmons kneels next to him, gloves on and hair pulled back, and slides one needle into the vein pulsing on his neck, drawing blood. She bags it and hands that to Fitz.

“Pre-mortem.” 

Fitz pulls out a marker and labels the bag, dropping it into the cooler.  
She pulls out a pair of thick scissors and cuts off Tyler’s t-shirt and jeans. Then they wait, Simmons with her fingers pressed against the mans neck, feeling his pulse die, and Fitz laying out surgical instruments on the plastic beside her. 

When the wheezing stops and she can no longer feel the thrum of moving blood under her fingers she takes another syringe full of blood, handing it to Fitz for labeling then she picks up a scalpel. 

She starts by cutting the track dart out of his neck, masking the puncture with several decorative cuts. Thick lines that wrap around the front of his throat, a deep swirl up his jaw and onto his cheek, a light row of diamonds on his opposite shoulder running just above the clavicle. 

Then she moves on to making a clean y-incision down the center of the chest and over the abdomen. She removes the liver, opening up the rib cage easily with several cuts with a costotome, bagging it before giving it to Fitz who grimaces slightly as he lays it in the cooler. 

After another few vials of blood and samples of lung tissue she’s got everything she needs and sends Fitz back to the car with the cooler as she masks her doings with more careless cuts. She shreds up the sides of the lungs, spreads the ribs further outward so they protrude from the body, leaving the heart open in the center of his chest. The kidneys get switched, just for the hell of it, and she perforates the lining of the stomach. 

Together they move the body off the plastic and fold it up for later use, then load all the tools back into the trunk of the car, clearing the scene of evidence.  
He kisses her roughly, teeth sinking into her bottom lip, pressing her back into the door of the car. She pushes back, both hands fisting in the wool of his sweater, pulling him closer for a moment before breaking off.

“We really shouldn’t linger Fitz, you know that.” She murmurs, her face inches away from his. 

“You know how much I love watching you work, Jem.” He tucks a strand of hair that has escaped her ponytail behind her ear, letting his fingers linger on the smooth skin of her cheek.

Simmons grins, pressing a quick peck to his lips. Then she’s sliding away and walking to the passenger seat. He sighs then gets into the car as well.

“I guess we’re not going to Seattle after all,” Simmons says, opening up the maps again.

“Doesn’t seem so,” Fitz replies, turning the car back onto the highway. 

“Let’s head east, shall we?” Jemma asks. 

“Sure,” Fitz answers, “Turn here?” 

“Why not?” She smiles at him brightly as he turns the car away from the setting sun.

\---

Coulson wakes to his phone ringing loudly. He groans, reaching blindly for the offending object, regretfully leaving the warmth of blankets for the cool air around him. Winter was just approaching and his building hadn’t turned the heating on yet. 

“May?” He asks into the phone. He doesn’t bother to check the ID first, it couldn’t be anyone else, it’s still dark outside.

“We’ve got another one.” She answers.

He groans again, “Where this time?” 

“Washington State, just off the I-5.”

“Just one?” He asks, getting out of bed and moving towards his closet.

“Looks like,” He hears rustling on the other end of the line, “Pick you up in ten?”

“Yup.” He tosses the phone back onto the bed.


	2. Chapter 2

They’re still driving as the sun starts to rise. Around 2am, when Simmons had been driving and Fitz watching the police reports, the discovery of a body off the I-5 had been called in. It wasn’t a stretch to believe that it was Tyler’s. So they had decided to travel for an undetermined amount of time to get as far away from the area of suspicion as possible.

Simmons, having swapped off driving duty once again, scrolled through news reports on the tablet, switching between multiple broadcast streams looking for information on the body. Nothing was showing up yet but she figured that wasn’t unusual as it was still too early for the regular morning news segments. 

“Do you want to stop for breakfast?” Fitz asks.

“Yeah, then I think we should head down into Wyoming. Stop there for a couple of days. I really should analyze those samples soon.” Jemma replies, switching out the tablet for the map again. “I just saw a sign for a diner up ahead, we can stop there for breakfast. Then we just need to stay on the I-90, it dips into Wyoming before it carries on through South Dakota. There should be someplace adequate to stop for a while.”

“Not too long though.” Leo merges into the exit lane of the highway, pulling the car into a large parking lot. It holds a gas station with several small goods stores, and a separate building bearing a large sign proclaiming ‘Diner.’ 

Jemma goes inside to get them a table while Fitz fills the car with gas. 

Inside the diner is a single small room, crammed full with slightly wonky looking tables and chairs empty of patrons. Both side walls hold booths with dark slightly cracked vinyl and there’s a TV mounted in one corner playing the national news. An elderly woman comes through the swinging door at the back of the room.

“Just for one dear?” She asks. 

“Two actually,” Simmons smiles back.

“Sure, take a seat wherever you like. I’ll bring you some menus.” 

Simmons takes a seat in a booth facing both the door and the TV and Fitz slides in beside her a moment later. 

The waitress comes back with menus and they’re eating their food, still the only people in the restaurant, before anything interesting comes onto the TV. 

“We have breaking news coming to you from Washington State this morning.” the newscaster says, “A body was found early this morning by a local jogger just off the Interstate 5 Highway outside of Olympia. FBI agents on the scene have confirmed that this does appears to be a victim of the serial killing duo known as ‘The Butchers.’ FBI Agent Phil Coulson, the main investigator on this case has released a statement on this latest murder.” 

The image switches to the side of the highway where a man in a crisp black suit stands, behind him crime scene tape is just barely visible and many people are rushing around. 

“The victim, whose identity cannot be released at this time, died some time early last night and the Medical Examiners preliminary report is that the cause was asphyxiation, although we cannot confirm how it was caused. 

“At this time we can say that this does look like the work of The Butchers. This is the twenty-fourth case linked to these perpetrators and we are certain that we are looking for a team, two individuals, one, or more probably both, with extensive anatomical and medical knowledge. They are highly sophisticated and have no trouble subduing their victims. We encourage the public to act with caution in high-risk situations such as walking alone at night. 

“We do not have any more information at this time, however I can assure you that the FBI is doing everything possible to find those responsible for these crimes and they will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. Thank you.”

“It’s just terrible isn’t it,” the waitress says, refilling Leo’s coffee, “All those poor people killed.”

“Yes,” Simmons answers, “Just terrible.”

“And that they haven’t caught them yet,” Fitz continues, “It’s been how long, a month?” 

“Oh longer than that I would think dear,” She says, tisking lightly before asking Simmons, “More tea dear?”

“Oh, no thank you,” Jemma answers, “We really should be going soon.”

“Alright. I’ll get your bill,” She walks back into the kitchen. 

Fitz finishes his coffee quickly and they leave cash with the waitress before heading back out to the car and keep driving. 

\---

Grant Ward watches the same broadcast from his home in DC as Fitz and Simmons do in the diner. Sitting behind his desk in the too early hours of the morning he reaches for the cell phone stored in the bottom left locked drawer and dials the only number in its memory. 

“Simmons,” he says when the scientist answers chirpily, “What the hell is going on? Why is this taking so long?”

“I know that we’re a little behind schedule Mr. Ward but to be fair it is quite tricky what you’ve asked, I’m not magic. It’s going to take a little more time but I really do think I’m almost there.” Simmons placates.

“And the body count? You’re up to twenty-four Simmons, that’s going to be a problem.” One of his hands digs into the leather of his chair at an attempt to stay quiet. 

“The solution needs to be tested. The final product needs to be definitive before I send it to you, if it’s not, that leads to all manner of trouble, no?” She sooths.

“Fine,” Ward grits out, “But hurry. It. Along.”

“Absolutely, Sir. We’re working diligently.” 

“Good.” He stabs the off key, ending the call. He replaces the phone in it’s drawer then leans back, taking several deep breaths, staring at the dark ceiling. The only light source in the room is the muted television. 

The door cracks open slowly, a quiet ‘hey’ drifting in from the hallway.

“Hey, honey, come in.” He replies quietly, smiling softly. 

Skye pads into the room, blinking sleepily still, he pulls her into his lap. Her hand cups the back of his neck, gently playing with the hair there. 

“Who were you talking to?” She asks.

“No one.” Grant answers, wrapping his arms around her waist. 

She gives him a look, eyebrow raised and head tilted.

“The television,” he amends with a small self-deprecating smile.

She chuckles softly, looking over at the mentioned object. 

“Is this that serial killer case?” She’s watching now.

“Yeah, there’s a new victim.” He moves on quickly, “So what are you doing up so early, it’s barely light out.”

She hums lightly in agreement, “Work.” A yawn breaks her reply, “Coulson called, apparently he forgot about that time change thing.”

“Ah,” he nods.

“What about you?” She asks gently.

“Couldn’t sleep, thought I’d get some work done.” He gives her his ‘nothing to worry about’ smile and gently shifts her off his lap, “You should get ready.”

She presses a soft kiss to his lips before swishing out of the room, “See you tonight.”

“See you,” He calls after her quietly. 

The door clicks shut and he pulls in another deep breath, leaning back in the chair, a hand grabbing at his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay yay I remembered!   
> Thanks for reading all


	3. Chapter 3

Another half day of driving and Fitz and Simmons are stopped in small town Wyoming in another cheap if slightly dank motel. Simmons has her microscope out studying the blood samples on the small countertop while Fitz is in the bathroom bleaching down their instruments and the plastic cover for the backseat of the car. 

“What about Minneapolis?” She calls to Fitz through the open door.

“Too small,” He replies, “Detroit?” 

“Too far,” She’s making notes, switching her gaze from the microscope to the page. 

“Chicago,” Leo amends.

Simmons pauses, looks up towards the bathroom door, “That sounds good actually.”

Fitz appears in the doorframe, “Good, then. How long do you want to stick around here?”

“A couple days at most. I want to put together a couple of mixtures, different ratio’s, so we’ll have something to try when we get there. And I wouldn’t mind sleeping in an actual bed for once.” She looks back to her notes. 

“Is there anything you need from me?” He asks, stepping up behind her, hands on her waist.

“As long as the injector is functioning properly I shouldn’t think so.” 

“Able to deliver a substance by penetrating the skin, then dissolving instantaneously and releasing a healing agent to close the injection site. Genius, if I do say so myself.” He kisses the back of her neck, “Almost done?”

She hums lightly, flipping between a few pages of her notebook as his hands roam over her stomach. After a few final notes she turns in his arms, sliding hers around his neck, “We really should dispose of the evidence, Fitz.”

“Mhm,” He mumbles, kissing her softly, pulling her into him, “It can wait.” 

“But-“ Jemma starts but he interrupts her with another kiss.

“Later.”

She relents, pushing him back a step then down onto the bed.

\---

Jemma wakes up several hours later, long after the sun has set, with Leo’s warm bare skin surrounding her. She sighs contently, snuggling further into his arms and pressing a soft kiss to the bicep her head is pillowed on. 

“Leo,” She whispers, too entrapped to leave the bed without waking him at least a little. 

When he doesn’t stir she repeats his name a little louder, nudging his nose with hers. He mumbles incoherently but pulls his arms back, allowing her to get up.  
She pulls one of Leo’s button ups on over her bare skin, covering against the slight chill of the room, and moves over to where she left her microscope. 

The samples collected from Tyler go into a large green trash bag which she sets aside to dispose of later then she switches her microscope for the hotplate and begins pulling different beakers and containers out of the bag. 

She passes the next several hours carefully mixing different variations of the chemicals and toxins in front of her and recording it all in her notebook, making sure to label the end products with the number of their corresponding formula. It progresses far more quickly than she’d expected, to her delight. All the while Fitz sleeps soundlessly in the bed behind her, only snoring gently every once in a while.   
After she has finished the first four basic formulas, which will need to be tested before she can determine the specific needs for their intended result, she quietly puts everything away then crawls back into bed with Fitz.

\---

Coulson smiles gratefully as May places another mug of coffee on the table behind him. 

“Anything?” She asks, taking a seat next to him in front of the evidence board. It’s mostly covered, holding pictures of previous victims and basic stats on them, but there’s an open space on the right hand side with only a picture of the latest victim, twenty-two year old Tyler Velazo, waiting for more information to be filled in. 

“No,” Phil sighs, “We have exactly nothing, as usual.”

They sit in silence staring at the board. Coulson takes a gulp of his coffee. It’s the same as all the others. There’s no lead. No evidence, no fingerprints, no DNA, only a mutilated body on the side of a highway, or in a shopping mall restroom, or a home in a quiet neighborhood. 

Coulson’s phone rings on the table and he picks it up answering it then putting it on speaker. 

“Skye, my computer guru, please tell me you have something.” 

“Sorry AC,” Skye’s voice comes through the line, “The guy’s a dead end, squeaky clean.”

Coulson sighs, “What have you found?”

“Tyler Velazo, twenty-two, grew up with his mom in Olympia, no dad in the picture. He ran into a bit of trouble when he was seventeen, there’s a sealed juvie record here.” 

“Which you unsealed,” Coulson fills in.

“Yeah, but it’s just a misdemeanor, breaking and entering, he did his community service time and seemed to turn it around. Graduated high school in 2010, been through a string of low-paying jobs, there’s not a lot of social media postings but I do have tweets that say he was headed to Seattle to find Daddy dearest and look for work.”

“How was he getting there? I didn’t think he had a car.” May asks.

“Hitchhiking.” Skye answers.

They all sigh.

“So a victim of opportunity,” Coulson says, “Nothing more.” He turns to May, “What did the coroner say?” 

“And that is where I leave you,” Skye says on the phone, “I’ll keep looking and let you know if I find anything.” The line clicks dead.

“He’s ruled cause of death as asphyxiation, but can’t tell what caused it yet. He told me he suspects poison but it’ll be a while before he can determine which exactly. They took the liver.” May answers him, leaning back in her chair. 

“They took the liver? All of it?” He asks incredulously.

“Apparently.”

“What are they doing with it?”

“Eating it, maybe?” She suggests.

They both shudder, “God I hope not.”

“Well they do have to be some level of psychopath,” May offers.

“True,” Coulson amends, “But still.” He shudders again, making a face.

“There isn’t any other evidence to support it,” She assures him, “Just a guess.”

“So we still have nothing,” He states, with a sigh and another gulp of coffee.

May lays a hand gently on his arm, “They’ll slip up, they always do.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've come to the conclusion that I'm a particularly twisted individual.   
> Let me know what you think.  
> xx

It takes them another day of driving to reach Chicago and longer even to find a space where they can work undisturbed. Eventually they stumble onto a large empty warehouse just outside of the city limits, which they rent out by calling a number with a burner phone and leaving a bag of cash in a deposit box. It’s completely empty, was probably once used for manufacturing, but has running water into a single bathroom and a ‘break room’ type thing for them to live out of, so it’s practically perfect. They spend the week alternating between setting up their workshop, a mattress to sleep on, Fitz turns an old desk into a workstation and Simmons fashions several long metal tables into autopsy slabs, and scouring the streets for test subjects.

After four days, when Jemma is calibrating her microscope Fitz rushes in excitedly. 

“I found them.” 

Simmons looks up immediately, rushing over to him, “Let me see.”

He pulls the camera out and allows her to flick through the many photos he took over the day.

“Mum, Dad, thirteen, and eight. I watched them all day they’re perfect. Their house is on a huge lot, there’s no one around for ages.”

“Good work Fitz,” She smiles broadly, kissing him quickly. 

“Night grab definitely, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jemma agrees, “Tonight, you think?”

“That quick?” Fitz drinks deeply from a bottle of water lying on his workstation. 

“Yeah, I mean everything’s ready no?”

“I guess yeah,” Fitz agrees, pulling her close and kissing her deeply.

Hours later, after the sun has set, Fitz has stolen a large van and Simmons has the four stealth injectors ready, labeled, and set out on her worktable. Fitz drops her off a street blocks distance away from the house with the agreement to meet her there in exactly seven minutes. She works herself up as she walks, getting to near tears by the time she rings the doorbell of the victims’ house. 

The wife answers after a few minutes, pulling a robe around herself, looking more than a little disoriented. 

Simmons gasps in a breath slightly, “I’m so sorry to bother you ma’am but my car has just broken down, well, the engine light is flashing and it’s making this sound like whomp-tick and my mechanic told me that it’s really really bad when it makes that sound because it was doing that before and he said I was really lucky that it didn’t like, explode or catch fire, you know and I really hate to put you out but do you think that I could trouble you to use your telephone?” There’s a few tears trying to leak from her eyes and she gives the woman her best pleading look. 

“Of course dear, come in.” She opens the door wider, ushering Simmons in, the husband is just approaching behind her also looking half-asleep still. 

“Thank you so much,” Simmons gushes, swiping at tears, “I’ve just been having the absolute worst day ever, really so it is just my luck something like would happen. It’s really so kind of you to help me, I’m so sorry to be bothering you this late at night.” 

“Oh it’s no problem.”

The woman is leading her into the house, the husband trailing after them slightly, and Simmons has her hand in her bag reaching for the small bottle of aerosolized dendrotoxin. 

The wife looks just about to stop when she pulls it out, spraying the husband in the face first, not watching as he falls dead asleep to the floor, then the suddenly startled wife. 

With both of them cold on the floor, she heads back to the front door, letting in Fitz who has parked the van in the driveway and locking the door behind him.

“Mum and Dad are out.” 

She hands him the dendrotoxin and takes the van keys while he heads upstairs for the kids and she ducks down a hallway, quickly finding the door to the garage. There’s a car and a large minivan inside, she a pair of keys off the hook by the door and gets into the car, opening the garage and leaving it on the street just outside the house. She then gets inside their van and pulls it into the garage, shutting the door behind it. 

After this it’s a scramble, hauling the four unconscious bodies into the back of the van, locking the door to the garage with the keys from the hook by the door, pulling their van out of the garage then putting the family’s car back in. What feels like seconds later Simmons presses the button to close the garage and slides it under the closing door, into a pile of clutter. Then they’re all in the van and driving back to the warehouse, a broad grin on Fitz lips. 

The rush continues once they’re back at the warehouse. Each unconscious body is moved onto it’s own metal slab and Simmons pulls on her gloves, moving behind Fitz as he injects each victim with the solution that will dissolve the dendrotoxin in their system, placing the toxin injector on their skin before they wake completely. She has a camera set up at one end of the warehouse, recording the victims’ movements and she watches the large clock on the wall carefully. She pulls blood from them periodically, handing them off to Fitz for labeling before moving on to the next dying body. 

The results take longer than she’d hoped. But she diligently notes down the twitches and coughs and screams of the family before they finally go still one by one. The youngest boy first, as she expected, smaller body mass means a higher concentration of poison, then the older girl. She screams the loudest but her brother just begs quietly for mercy. The mother loses lucidity quickly, writhing painfully with tears dripping down her face while the father tries to fight, though not very effectively, the toxin dripping through his veins is far too damaging.

Simmons smiles at her work, the bodies laid out in a row, her worktable neatly lines with vials of blood. 

She starts her autopsies on the boy, and then repeats her actions across all four family members. It’s mechanical really, she makes note of the area where the injector was placed and finds no evidence of it’s existence, then a y-incision to open the body, samples taken from the major organs and various fluids, then she moves on, allowing Fitz to disguise her work. 

She’s just cutting open the mother, her third body, when she looks up at Fitz. He’s tapping rapidly on his tablet, standing about three feet away from the body of the girl, instructing his drones as they hover around the body. It’s twitching softly, so she knows that Fitz has attached his beater, a device that attaches directly to the heart and pumps it artificially, after death. In this case he’s using it to push a fluid around the bodies that will dissolve the toxins that killed them. 

Time passes quickly with both of them focused on their work completely, the air is silent except for the occasional whirl of one of Fitz’s drones or the sound of flesh cutting or bone being ground away by metal. 

It’s still dark when they’re done, so they pile the bodies back into the back of the van and Fitz drives it out into the city. He’ll take a long winding route to find an alley where it can be left inconspicuously, then bleach down the entire interior and find his way back to the warehouse slowly. 

Simmons cleans up the blood and various bits of flesh and bone then start analyzing the samples she collected. It doesn’t take long for her to realize that one is very clearly superior to the others but she makes notes on all of it and more hours pass quickly. 

By the time Fitz makes his way back to the warehouse the sun has long ago risen and she has cataloged everything, bagging it for disposal, and is working on a variation of the most effective serum. 

“Which one was it?” Fitz asks walking back into the warehouse, shoulders slumped and a yawn breaking his face. 

“Mum, actually.” 

He nods, “Good, good. I’m gonna go crash now, if you don’t mind.” 

She doesn’t look up, “Go ahead.”

“Maybe you want to join me? You’ve been up for more than twenty-four hours Jemma.”

She waves a hand in dismissal, “I’m fine, I’m almost done. I want to finish this mixing this formula, I think it’s going to be the one. I’ll lie down in a bit.”

“Alright.”

\---

Ward is not panicking. Skye was talking about the program she’s developing for Agent Coulson that tagged and sorted police reports from all over the country then brought specific cases to her desktop with only the input of several key words. It was meant, in this instance, to scan for reported bodies with severe mutilation, potential victims of The Butchers. He stopped listening at that mention, the blood rushing through his ears. His wife is working on a case that he is very clearly, guiltily, connected to.

“That sounds great, honey.” He says, forcing another bite of his dinner into his mouth.

“You haven’t been listening to a word have you?” 

He smiles back guiltily, “Sorry, you know how I get lost when you go into techno-babble mode.”

She returns his smile, “Well this is a big step, hopefully it’ll identify the bodies faster, rather than having to wait for local law enforcement to make the connection.”

He swallows thickly. 

“Oh!” She continues, “And your mom called, she invited us to come up for Thanksgiving, your brothers are going to be there too. I said we could come, I hope that’s okay?”

He nods and smiles in response.

Ward is not panicking.


	5. Chapter 5

By mid afternoon the next day after Fitz has woken from several hours sleep, Simmons finally thinks she’s done it, has created a toxin to simulate a heart attack without leave any trace of it’s involvement. They just need one final test subject. 

Seeing Jemma still awake, Leo gently pulls her away from her notes, steering her towards the bed when she doesn’t fight and laying her down with a simple, “You’ll be sloppy if you’re tired.”

She nods, falling asleep almost instantly, only vaguely feeling Fitz pull the blankets over her and press a kiss to her forehead.

When he wakes her the sun has already set, he’s wearing tight black jeans and a leather jacket that shows off the broadness of his shoulders and slender waist delightfully. 

“Come on, we’re going out.” Leo grins maliciously, sending a thrill through her veins. 

He’s already cleared out the warehouse, ditching the furniture in a dumpster somewhere probably, bleached down all the surfaces and loaded their things into the car.

She dresses quickly in a short black dress, curling her hair and applying darker eye makeup than usual, she loads a small bag with multiple stealth injectors filled with her latest formula, syringes, a single scalpel, and a few other gadgets, making Fitz tuck the beater and a few larger blades into his jacket.

He kisses her roughly, sinking his teeth into her bottom lip and running his tongue along the roof of her mouth, stopping her on their walk to the car, “You look lovely.”

She smiles back almost giddily, dragging him to the car. Excitement hums through her veins and the air as they drive into the city, hands clasped together on top of the gearshift as Fitz drives.

He parks at random in the first spot he sees in a fairly busy looking section of city and they walk, arms around each other, they enter the first club they see.  
It’s not a large room but it is packed, the music blaring, and the room dark with a couple of strobing lights. 

They split up immediately, Fitz going to linger around the edges of the room while Simmons dives right into the crowd, mixing in with the drunken dancers seamlessly.  
She can feel Fitz’s eyes burning through her as she glides over to the bar. It doesn’t take long before a man is approaching her, slightly intoxicated but still mostly coherent. 

“Hi,” he says loudly over the music, “I’m Evan.”

“Jemma,” She smiles charmingly.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Evan asks.

“Sure, beer is good.”

He signals the bartender over and pays for the two bottles, “So, you’re from England then?”

There are several awkward minutes of small talk before she gets him started talking about some project he’s doing at work and mostly tunes it out, only smiling and nodding, periodically letting her fingers skim over a piece of his skin. She looks for Fitz over Evans shoulder, he’s glaring murder into the other mans back and it sends another jolt of excitement through her when he meets her gaze. 

She nods to him ever so slightly and a slow smile spreads over his face, showing too many teeth to be casual. His eyes wander over to a hallway, then he scratches at his jaw, clearly showing three fingers for a moment. She nods her understanding back, three minutes, then turns her attention back to Evan.

He’s obviously waiting for her to reply to something she didn’t hear so instead she just pulls him forward by his shirt and kisses him. 

He’s stunned for a second but adjusts quickly, kissing her back sloppily, more drunk than she had originally anticipated. Her eyes are open and they meet Fitz’s for a moment and if looks could kill Evan would already be dead. She breaks off, both the kiss and from Fitz’s gaze, hopping off the barstool she’d been sitting on and pulling Evan by the shirt through the crowd. Pausing here and there to press more kisses to his mouth and neck.

Once they’re down the hallway she quickly sees that it has a single door at the end with a sign for the women’s bathroom on it. She lets him push her against the wall, trailing his lips down her neck, using this moment to reach into her purse for the stealth injector, pressing it into the back of his neck as she brings her hand up to run through his hair. 

She turns them around and pushes him through the door to the bathroom ahead of her, then locking it behind them. 

“Hey, what the-“ Evan says as Fitz grabs him and shoves him against the wall, his head smacking the drywall. He has a small switchblade in his hand and drives it violently into Evans abdomen then lets him drop to the floor groaning.

“Fitz,” Simmons complains, “That could have affected the results.”

He shrugs, turning to her, eyes dark, the bloody blade dropping out of his hand and clattering onto the floor, “Should be non-fatal.”

They kiss hungrily, Fitz boosting Simmons onto the sink countertop and her wrapping her legs around his waist. She shudders as his lips move down her neck, his teeth grasping at her pulse point. 

“The body,” she gasps, one hand palming his shoulder to push him away before curling around it.

He growls lowly pressing another hard kiss to Jemma’s lips before turning and picking up the blade again.

“Is he dead?” Simmons asks from her seat on the counter. 

Fitz picks up the man’s limp wrist, holding for a second then letting it slap back to the floor, “Yeah.”

Jemma pulls a syringe out of her purse and holds it out for Fitz.

He takes it more than a little reproachfully, sticking the needle into the dead man’s skin and pulling the plunger then quickly handing it back to Simmons. 

It only takes a quick jerk with the knife to split Evan’s shirt, then another slice to open the skin. They don’t have time or tools for anything more elaborate so Fitz slips the beater out of his pocket and onto the man’s heart through the gap in his ribs, injecting the fluid right into his heart, then works on marring the available skin while it works. 

Simmons sits on the countertop, her feet swaying as a child would on a swing, watching Fitz work. It’s merciless, beautiful, how the tension runs through his shoulders and arms as he cuts away flesh, dead blood running over the body and soaking onto his hands with the artificial beating of his heart. It’ll appear pre-mortem, she knows, on the coroners report. It’ll look like torture, and that’s almost enough to make her smile and clap her hands giddily. 

He works efficiently and soon he’s washing the blood off his hands, the beater already back in his pocket, and pulling her off the counter and out of the bathroom, through a backdoor that leads out to an alley.

They’re off running, he’s pulling her through the streets, both of them laughing loudly and stopping here and there to kiss breathlessly.

“We should get this to a lab,” Jemma says as they slow to cross a street, patting her bag, “I’ll need a mass spectrometer to be sure it’s correct.”

“Then let’s find you a lab,” Leo answers stopping and kissing her again. They’re in the middle of the street, a horn blares and they’re off running again.

\---

It’s been a week and Coulson and May still have nothing. Tyler Velazo’s body didn’t lead to any breakthroughs and to top things off the press had started to spread a sense of panic across the country, calling the pair ‘uncatchable.’ 

Due to the lack of leads, they’ve been called back to DC to report their progress to the Director of all people. Needless to say it was a bad meeting. 

Coulson is sitting in his office, nursing a glass of whiskey and staring blankly at the wall in front of him, hoping that maybe it would provide some answers.  
His phone rings and he picks it up blindly, not bothering to check the caller ID.

“Coulson.”

“Sir,” It’s Skye on the other end, “I think I have something.”

He sits up suddenly, “Really?”

“Yeah, four bodies were just found in Chicago and identified as Amanda and Kevin Sutton, their eight year old son Eric and thirteen year old daughter Violet. They were found in a stolen van that was dumped in an alley. There was heavy mutilation on all four bodies, it looks like our guys.”

“Sounds about right, I’ll call May.”

“I’ll get you flights to Chicago and confer with local PD.” Skye hangs up with a click and he’s dialing May’s number eagerly.

There are six missed calls from Skye when they land in Chicago. 

He calls back immediately.

“There’s another one.” She answers with, “Still Chicago, a club downtown this time though, in the women’s bathroom. Single male victim, he was just found.”

“That’s new,” May says from beside him. 

“Yeah, thanks Skye.”

“I’ll send the address to your phones.” She hangs up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a really crappy day so your comments would be especially appreciated.  
> xx


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost forgot but I didn't!

It doesn’t take long for them to find out where the closest lab is and after a quick detour to the car for more supplies they make their way into it. It doesn’t take much for Fitz to break through the University’s meager security system, there’s not even a guard at the door. It takes a few minutes of searching through darkened rooms and rattling door handles before they stumble upon a lit lab at the end of the hallway, Simmons enters it clumsily, searching for the machine she needs.

“Found it Fitz!” She calls back into the hallway.

The two occupants of the room, young women who look more than a little burned-out, stare at her blankly.

Fitz, appearing over her shoulder enters the lab, shooting both it’s occupants point blank with casing full of paralytic. They drop to the floor, able to do nothing but gasp in breaths. 

He shrugs at the questioning look she point at him, “For celebration, when you confirm it works.”

Simmons pulls out the blood samples and gets to work as Fitz leans against the wall, watching the bodies breath. 

When she finally pulls the results from the machine, it only takes a moment of reading before Jemma’s grinning broadly and throwing herself into Fitz’s arms almost squealing, “It works!”

She kisses him enthusiastically before turning the two women on the floor, just beginning to twitch slightly as the drugs wear off, with a broad grin, too many teeth showing through. 

“Who do you want?” She asks Fitz.

“Doesn’t matter to me Jem, you’re the one who solved this, you pick first.”

She smiles even broader, focusing her attention to one woman, “I think I’ll take blondie.”

She reaches over to the bag of tools, digging through for one particular toy, turning to the woman once she’s found it before stalking forward.

“You know,” Simmons says to her, “This is a rather interesting thing Fitz developed,” She holds up the small chainsaw like tool, “It’s strong enough to cut through steel, so really think of what it can do to flimsy bone and tissue. But there are loads of things to cut through people with, hell even a good sharp knife will do it with enough brute strength and commitment.” 

The woman is crying harder now, no sound escaping her, barely moving, just tears streaming down her face and onto the floor.

“The fun thing about this thing,” Simmons continues carelessly, “Is that it almost instantly cauterizes the wound, so you don’t be all boring and die of blood loss. I mean, it’ll hurt like hell, but it won’t even get close to killing you.”

Simmons distantly hears Fitz working on the other woman behind her but doesn’t bother to pay any attention to him, she’s too focused. She flicks the switch on the device and it whirls to life, making a small thrumming noise and the blade of it glows white-hot after a minute.

“What do you say we start small?” Simmons asks, dropping to her knees beside the woman, taking her hand. She just barely presses the blade to skin, then brings it away, leaving a large wide burn on the woman’s palm, she wretches in pain, a mangled sound barely escaping her lips.

“Fun, isn’t it?” Simmons asks. 

She moves on to cutting off small bits of body, three fingers on one hand, the thumb of the other, the edge of her ear. The volume of the screams increases so Fitz turns the radio on loudly and Simmons stuffs the woman’s scarf in her mouth, she could be moving now, but is in far too much pain and shock. Simmons leaves her left hand dangling bits of skin and tendon, the smell of cooking meat fills the air. She stabs the blade deeply into the woman’s lower abdomen, holding it there, watching her scream uselessly before removing it and starting on thick slices into both her legs.

Eventually, Fitz is touching her shoulder, saying that he’s done. She surveys her work, small smile pressing into a broader grin as she brings the blade across the woman’s neck. Her screams stop.

They pack up and she quickly surveys Fitz’s work, a large pool of blood around the body, multiple knives sticking up from it, more damage that she doesn’t catalogue, then they head back to the car. 

Fitz drives, just pointing the car in the quickest direction out of the city, and Simmons roots around the glove box for the burner phone. When she finds it she calls Ward, he answers on the second ring.

“What?”

“We did it, it’s done.” Simmons answers excitedly. 

“And there’s no way it’s traceable.” He sounds nervous.

“Nope, it’ll just look like a heart attack. We’ll be in DC in around a day.”

“Good, call me when you get here, I’ll tell you where to drop it.”

The line clicks off.

“Everything good?” Fitz asks.

“Yup,” Simmons smiles, pulling out the tablet.

They drive in silence only for a moment.

“We really should be done now,” Fitz says as he drives.

Simmons pouts at him, looking up from where she’s searching the news.

“Come on Simmons, you know serial killers get caught because they get bored and cocky, better to quit while we’re ahead. We accomplished our goal. We’ll have the money to settle down.”

“One more,” she pleads, flicking her eyes from him to the screen.

“Fine, who?”

She holds up the screen to him, on it is a picture of the suit who’s been talking about their case the most on the news, “Him.”

\---

Coulson and May stay in Chicago three days before the leads dry up. With no new bodies and fast moving suspects they are quickly ordered back to DC. With the agreement that he and May will get some rest over the weekend and start fresh on Monday Coulson heads back to his apartment alone. 

He steps inside, almost immediately noticing that something is off and reaches for his gun.

A shock runs through his body, dropping him to his knees, his gun is pulled from its holster and something hard presses into his lower back, he looks up.

“If you move again expect a larger shock,” The woman standing in front of him says bluntly, a small smile on her face. Recognition floods through him.

“Dear god, you’re a woman.” Coulson says shocked, looking behind him at the other half.

The woman smirks, “Criminology really is a pseudoscience Agent Coulson.”

Another shock runs through him and he crashes further to the floor.


	7. Chapter 7

EPILOGUE:

Fitz and Simmons lie in another shabby motel bed in another silently small town, the news playing on the television in front of them. 

“There is still no new information on the serial killing team known to police as ‘The Butchers,’ nor have there been any new victims since the death of FBI Agent Phil Coulson. The FBI confirms that they are still actively investigating the case and that they will not rest until these individuals are caught.”

It switches screens to a new anchor, “Thank you Wendy. In other news, it is now confirmed that Senator Christian Ward did die this weekend at a family thanksgiving dinner. Also in attendance were Ward’s parents and two younger brothers. The coroner has ruled cause of death a heart attack.”

Leo clicks the TV off and tosses the remote aside, “Come on, we’ve got an early morning flight tomorrow.”

He pulls her under the blankets with him and reaches up to turn the lamp off. She cuddles into his side, his heat seeping into her skin.

“To Heathrow,” Simmons says quietly.

“To Heathrow,” Fitz confirms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, that's it. I don't really know if I love this ending or hate it. Let me know what you think. Thanks for reading everyone, I hope you enjoyed it!  
> xx

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to try to update this every Thursday, feel free to come yell at me on Tumblr ~~if~~ when I forget.  
>  Also please let me know if you think the rating should be higher.  
> Thanks!


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